I hold back the desire to roll my eyes. Again, I don’t say anything, but this time a little hum comes from my throat.
Mm-hmmm.
Luckily, traveling five floors doesn’t take too long, so the small room we’re trapped in comes lurching to a halt in just a few seconds.
The door opens, and the woman looks behind her. “Hope you have a great day.”
I just nod blankly. I have to get out now. She knows we’re going to the same floor. There are also only five units on the whole floor. I step out of the elevator as slowly as possible, waiting for the woman to enter her unit first.
And then my heart sinks when I see where she’s going. Past the doormats, past the plastic plant, past the conservative news listener, and right to Mack’s door.
I meander, stalling, and attempt to hide behind the plastic plant while keeping an eye on her.
She knocks on the door. “Mack. Hey. It’s Delaney.”
She waits and then knocks again. “Mack. Open up.”
For some reason, I can’t fathom this encounter. I can’t imagine there’s any way he’ll let her in.
But then the door bursts open, and she hustles inside, no sight of Mack except for the smallest flash of his arm.
Who the fuck is Delaney?
Chapter 17
My knees are shaking, and my chest feels hot. This was a bad idea. A walk? Who am I kidding? I don’t go for walks. Hell, I don’t leave the apartment.
I squeeze my jacket tight around me and turn on my heel as quietly as I can. Instead of the elevator, I walk to the dark corner at the end of the hallway toward the Exit sign and force myself to trot down the gray, dank stairwell. It’s even more alarming than the stairwell in my building. Older and creepier.
Whatever. I’ve got to get the fuck home.
Who the hell was that going to Mack’s apartment?
My first thought is the letter that was left at his door with a woman’s handwriting.
This has to be the woman. Has to.
I barely remember my walk home; my head is spinning a mile a minute. Why did I think Mack was only for me? And why did that appeal to me so much?
I don’t even know him at all.
I just think I do.
When I round the corner to my apartment building, I run up the stairs. I’m out of breath by the time I make it to my floor, but then, down the hall, I see Jason.
Shit, not Jason. Not now.
But he’s not even standing at his apartment. Instead . . . he’s standing in front of mine.
I keep walking because although my fear rockets at the very sight of him, I just want to get the fuck inside.
I draw near and narrow my eyes to make sense of what he’s doing.
It looks like he’s fiddling with my door knob.
Is he trying to break in?
“Hey!” I bark out. “What’re you doing?”
The shouting surprises even me. My anxiety is compounded by my anger about Mack.
Jason looks up quickly, guiltily, in my opinion.
“Jules! I was just looking for you.”
“Why?” I say in my most deadpan voice. I halt in front of him, hands on my hips.
He fidgets a bit, touches the handle of my door for a second, then looks at me and drops his hand. “There was a moth on your door handle. But I killed it.”
Yeah the fuck right.
“Great. I’ve gotta get inside.”
But he steps in front of the door, blocking me from the entrance. “I thought you’d be grateful.”
Any other day, my heart would be pounding now. Any other day, I’d do whatever I could to forgo some kind of conflict. But today isn’t just any other day.
Instead, I fix my gaze on Jason, gravity tugging downward at the corners of my lips. “Grateful for what?”
